


UNDERNEATH THE STREETS

by AgnesClementine



Category: Supernatural, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, M/M, Self-Indulgent, This is weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-08 13:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16429928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: It was early August when it started happening. Well, it was then when people started noticing it; nobody was connecting the dots before the rich kids started disappearing. He doesn’t think about it up to the moment when he’s elbows deep in suds, waiting for Mick to drive Lisa back from school and scrambling to grab his phone before it vibrates off the counter. He doesn’t think about it until it’s Lisa that goes missing.**********************************************This is a self- indulgent thing I wrote.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is yet another self- indulgent xover I wrote. Winchesters are, yet again, older than Len and Mick. But I swear it has a reason this time.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think. :)

It was early August when it started happening. Well, it was then when people started noticing it; nobody was connecting the dots before the rich kids started disappearing. That’s when the press and police kicked up a fuss. Kids would wake up, eat breakfast, get ready for school and kiss their moms goodbye before getting dropped off at school- and then they’d be gone. _Poof. Vanishing into thin air._

Len hadn’t thought much about it. The only information he knew, he heard on the radio in whichever of Mick’s safehouses, saw on TV or heard from conversations between Lewis and his cop buddies. It was just one of these things. Bad, disgusting things that were life’s way of saying ‘ _News flash, I’m a bitch_ ’.  Bad things like that happen all the time, so what? Len’s not crying over his crappy life and he sure as hell won’t cry over someone else’s.

He doesn’t think about posters taped all over the city and wailing parents on the TV in the living room while Lewis is sleeping through his hangover and Lisa is waiting for Mick to come pick her up and drive her to school. He doesn’t think about any of it through all of the morning, more worried about the number of bruises he’ll have later if he puts the dishes in the old, rumbling machine instead of hand- washing them. He doesn’t think about it up to the moment when he’s elbows deep in suds, waiting for Mick to drive Lisa back from school and scrambling to grab his phone before it vibrates off the counter. He doesn’t think about it until it’s Lisa that goes missing.

_Then_ \- then he starts to think about it. Throws himself into it like it’s another heist and missing even the tiniest detail could earn him a broken rib. He starts to dig, dig in earnest because police is doing a crap job of collecting intel on any of their cases, really, and if you want something done properly, you gotta do it yourself. And when he starts to dig, the weird shit starts to surface.

“This makes no sense.” He snaps, spinning on his heel to face Mick, only a step behind him. The cold wind is whipping at his face, the last rays of sun doing little to no good at warming up their skin. Even though he’d usually embrace the cold, welcome it, he’s in no mood to appreciate it right now.

Mick, for his part, is no happier about sullen weather, fall just behind the corner now, but that’s not really unusual for him. Although Len knows this special kind of scowl is reserved for situations when Mick worries, but won’t show it. He gives Len a grunt in response, eyes darting around the park where five out of nine kids have been snatched from.

“There’s no pattern. They’re all over the place.” Len continues, knowing Mick’s listening. “There’s a ten-year gap between the kids. There’s no gender, race, age or any other identifying marker that should attract attention to them. This park and the school are the only things they have in common. And even that’s only because this is where they were taken from.”

Mick hums in conformation. He’s got his eyes on one of the patrol cars down the street, hands in the pockets of his jacket, the right one, no doubt, thumbing at his Zippo lighter.

Len sighs. It’s been almost a month and nobody had a jack. Lisa was supposed to be safe. Isn’t that what Len’s been doing everything for? Lisa’s safety?

They’ve stayed long enough here, park not giving them any answers and Len knocks his elbow against Mick’s as he starts walking again. “Let’s go. There’s nothing here.”

  * ●●●●



Dean trudged into the library with the head still foggy from sleep, yawning loudly. That’s got tearing Sam’s attention from his laptop.

“Hey,” he greets, “I think I’ve got something.” He says quickly.

Dean collapses into a chair at the head of the table, raising his eyebrows at him. “Already? Man, it’s barely, what, nine?”

“Ten. And this is… this is a big deal.” His voice held seriousness that had Dean shaking away any remaining sleep.

“Yeah? What’ve you got?” He asks.

“So, there’s this massive case of kidnapping in Central City. _Nine kids in barely a month, Dean_.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah.” Sam agrees.

“Why the hell haven’t we heard about it before?”                                                                

Sam snorts. “It took them a while to figure out what’s going on. AKA, until rich kids started going missing.”

Dean gives a snort of his own. “Of course. You’ve got any idea what it might be?”

“Um, no. And neither do they. It’s… victimology is all over the place. Listen to this,” Sam says, eyes on the screen, “There are two 18-year-olds, a 15-year-old, one 13-year-old, two 10-year-olds and three eight-year-olds. Five are boys, four girls. Three are black, one Asian. Two Muslims. It’s a mess.”

Dean whistles. “Shit. How do we find something that doesn’t have a pattern?”

Sam huffs, “We go to see for ourselves? I don’t think we’ll find anything until we talk to the families and possible witnesses.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. He’s not too thrilled to work a case in a city that size, but they’ve been cooped up in the bunker long enough.  He’s starting to get antsy and Mom is still hunting on her own. _Adjusting_ , as Sam said.

“Well, pack up. We’re leaving in half an hour.”


	2. About The Snarts

They get to the Central just in time to find a decent motel and get a breakfast before putting on their suits and starting to investigate.

It’s weekend, so the school area is vacant, but so is the park when they get there, except a few patrol cars parked around the corners. Seems like people are a bit reluctant to go out when something’s snatching their children like there’s no tomorrow. Anyway, both crime scenes are a bust.

They head for the police station next.

The precinct is bustling with people darting right and left, papers and reports rustling, phones ringing and voices overlapping in strange kind of organized chaos that’s befallen on people. It’s ridiculously easy to just flash their fake badges and ask for case files. Young detective- he’s still green around the edges- hands them the copies, debriefing them as he does, when a sharp slam of doors draws Dean’s attention. Few more heads snap up to look at the man with a storm on his face walking towards the exit, but they quickly dismiss him, like it’s a daily occurrence. Their eyes meet and man’s expression turns to one of confusion before morphing into realization. Dean’s skin itches, the paranoia that he’s been recognized in the back of his throat. Still, he only breaks the eye contact when the man’s out of his sight and out of the door.

“Who was that?” He asks the young detective, interrupting whatever he’s been saying to Sam.

“Oh,” he starts, shifting on his feet, “Lewis Snart. He, ah, used to work here.” He says hesitantly.

“What happened?” Sam asked, curious about detective’s sudden nervous behavior.

The detective looked between the two of them. “I don’t know for sure, it was a bit before my time, but the word is he got a bit rough while handling a suspect. One lawsuit later-“ he trails off with a helpless shrug. “He doesn’t have his badge anymore, but he still has ties inside the force, so he gets away with pretty much everything. He was probably asking for the files as well.”

“Why’d he do that?”

“Um,” he scrambles to find the right file in his hands, opening it for them when he finds it, “his daughter is one of the kids gone missing. The last one actually.”

Lisa Snart, 18.

“Shit.” Dean curses because the girl looks exactly like someone a child molester would pick. Big hazel eyes and flowing, curly brown hair. She has an air of innocence about her, even over the photo. Her dad might be giving Dean the creeps, but she seems like a good kid.

“Yeah.” Detective agrees.

They say thank you for the files and leave for their motel room to go over the information themselves. There’s a stack of papers on the table by the time they decide to take a break and eat, and it only grows bigger when they continue searching. Piles and piles of useless information and no answers. It’s frustrating.

Dean huffs, running a hand over his face. “I think we can cross out a ghost. There’s no pattern.” Which is not helpful at all because there are about 50 other monsters they have to rule out yet to come even close to figuring this out.

They go to bed grumpy and unsatisfied with their progress, or the lack thereof.

  * ●●●●



Len wakes up with a stiff neck, left arm numb from being used as a pillow and laptop silently humming in front of him. He stretches, vertebras popping and muscles aching in a way they shouldn’t until Len’s at least forty. _If he lives long enough_ , is a silent, but all too serious thought.

The house is quiet, so Lewis went out early or is still sleeping. Either is welcoming, giving Len a bit of time to lick his wounds in private. His body is starting to ache something fierce the more it wakes up and he knows the price of unattended bruises.

Lewis came back last night alcohol- angry and shaking with paranoia and frustration. And it’s not even Lisa. No, Lewis doesn’t care about Lisa any more than he cares about Len. The cops are making him antsy, digging around too much for his liking and fraying his whiskey- washed, thin nerves. His anger management methods are not doing Len any favors, but it’s better than beating some poor bastard senseless or attacking a cop.

He shoves the files stolen from the station under his mattress and turns off the laptop, then sneaks across the hallway on practiced, silent feet into the bathroom. His ribs ache when he takes off his clothes to enter the shower, but he endures it because he never liked taking pills unless it was necessary.

Coffee’s done when Lewis enters the kitchen, stoic and not paying Len any attention. He pours him a cup and leaves it on the table, turning back to grab one for himself as well when the doorbell rings.

Lewis’s eyes snap up to him, eyeing him analytically. “Go open the door, Leonard.”

Len nods, tongue pushing against his teeth to keep him from sighing. _This better not be cops again_.

  * ●●●●



The house is… not what Dean was expecting. There’s no rose bushes or any kind of flowers, but the lawn is neat and the house is nowhere near the paint- peeling stage. It’s normal. It doesn’t look like a place where an ex-cop, two times widower would live with his two children.

Sam rings the doorbell and they wait until the lanky kid opens the door. Okay, ‘kid’ might be pushing it because according to the file Leonard Snart is 21, but he’s still baby-faced enough to be considered his sister’s age. He gives them a ‘blink-of-an-eye’ once- over and raises one eyebrow at them.

“We don’t need a new vacuum cleaner.”

There’s something so painfully familiar about him that it takes Dean a moment to register his words.

“Um, no. We’re not salesmen.” Sam is much faster in his response.

“FBI, kid. Agents Plant and Smith.” Dean continues, flashing his badge. The kid is not impressed.

“You’re here about Lisa.” He states in a voice that all other families of victims have; tired and irritated. The only difference is that his expression is near blank, like he can’t be bothered with this.

“Yeah, we-“ Sam is interrupted when another person steps up behind Leonard, putting a heavy hand over kid’s shoulder.

“Agents.” Lewis Snart greets them pleasantly with a nod, not even a shadow of the man Dean saw in the station yesterday. He still gives Dean the creeps. “Come on in.”

“I’m actually going late. I have to go. If you’ll excuse me.” Leonard says, slithering out of his father’s grip and past Sam and Dean. He disappears behind the corner of the house.

A few moments later, they see him driving off on a sleek, black motorcycle.

“He’s late for work,” Lewis explains, leading them into the kitchen. Dean notices the lack of photos, how neat everything is. It’s almost surreal, like the house isn’t even lived in, though someone keeps it functional. The only thing that catches his eye are sticky notes stuck to the door of a fridge, grocery shopping lists, schedules, lists for various work tools that need to be bought. The handwriting is neat (shocker) and equal on all notes.

“Where does he work?” Sam asks as they sit at the table and Snart putters around the kitchen.

“Workshop downtown. It’s not a good neighborhood, but they don’t care about diplomas.” He responds with his back to them. “Coffee?” he offers, looking at them over his shoulder.

“Sure, thanks.” Sam nods, exchanges a glance with Dean. For a man whose daughter just went missing a day ago, he’s sure taking it all well.

“Anyway, you’re here to talk about Lisa.” It’s more of a statement than a question, much like his son’s. And like his son, Lewis Snart is looking way too composed for someone in this situation.

“Yeah, we’re aiding in the investigation and just want to make sure we have all info-” Sam starts, but then the man turns to them, expression unreadable.

“Cut the shit.” He says curtly, stuns them into silence for a moment. “I know you’re not feds.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nina had photos, _Dean_.” He says like he’s revealing a secret. What he, in fact, did do. He obviously knows who they are and the fact they’re one phone call away from lifetime prison is deadly real. Then the first name registers in Dean’s head.

“Wha- Nina?” He’s got to make sure he heard that right.

Snart nods. “Nina Morsley. We met a long time ago.”

Sam turns wide eyes at him. “That Nina? It’s been, what, twenty years?”

“More like 22.” Dean corrects. _God, more than two decades passed_ , he realizes. “How do you know her?”

“We were a thing for about three years.”

“And where is she now?”

Snart shrugs, something smug about him. “As I said, it was a long time ago. Couldn’t tell you. But I can tell you that I know a bit about you.”

“You gonna call cops on us?” Dean really hopes the answer isn’t positive- he doesn’t want to rob two kids of the only parent they have left.

“No. I’m not too keen to tangle with them either. And I want to know what’s going on too.”

  * ●●●●



Dean can’t help but feel like they made a deal with the devil. Snart won’t rat them out to police, if only because they share a common interest- finding out what happened to those kids. He has his ties in police and they have their… expertise in the field. Finding man’s missing daughter should be a reason good enough, but there’s just _something_ about the man that makes Dean feeling like he’s not seeing the whole picture because Lewis is holding a hand over his eyes.

Though Leonard Snart might be an even bigger mystery. The kid had a year-long trip to juvie at age fourteen, dropped out of high school before he even properly started it and, according to Lewis, had some problems with his emotions. Or the lack of them. His reaction upon their meeting is more explainable after that. The only problem is that the kid is not the one making Dean’s hackles rise.

“You have to admit it, though. The kid was pretty cold when we met.” Sam reasons when Dean presents his issue with what they’ve been told.

“Yeah. You think we should check him out?”

Sam shrugs, “Maybe he knows something more. I mean, it’s his sister.”


	3. Finding Leads

Mick is fiddling with a radio- or what used to be a radio- when Len arrives.

“Some clowns dressed as feds are at my place. I’ll crash here tonight.” He announces as soon as he enters.

Mick grunts, looks up, “How d’ you know they’re not the real deal?”

“Badges,” Len gestures with his hands, “I mean, they were good, really good.”

“But fake.”

“Exactly.” He sinks into the deadbeat couch pushed against the wall, stretching over it like a cat ready for a nap. “Said they were there for Lisa. And they sure as hell got Lewis’ attention.”

“You know you can just pack your bags and get the fuck out of there? I’ve got space.” Mick says, then scrunches his face at… some part of the radio. “At least you don’t have to pay rent, yeah?”

He’s not looking at Len right now, so he allows his lips to turn into a small smirk. “I know. Trust me, I plan on taking you up on that offer, just a while longer.” _Just until we find Lisa and I get enough cash to give her a cushy scholarship and a place uptown_.

Mick grunts again, keeps working. Len watches him for a bit, focused like he is on rare occasions, almost like when he’s staring at the fire, but never quite like it. His fire focus is a thing of wonder. Len saw it in action more than once, the way he can relax, _breathe_ and be content to just watch flames flicking up into the air. The only thing that makes Len feel that way is ice and, ironically, watching Mick watch the fire. It’s strange, something that has no rules, so Len just pushes it in the back of his head, letting it be instead of overthinking it like he usually does with everything else.

“I want to go talk to people later,” he says, “maybe someone saw something.”

“Mhm, and we know how eager people around here are to talk to cops.” Mick responds.

“Yeah. I’m thinking if anyone knows something, they’ll be more likely to talk to us than them.”

They know that the police already combed through the streets, but to be real here, Len and Mick know every nook and cranny, every corner and shitty bar in downtown Central. It’s their home turf. Len’s been _raised_ on those streets. Cops don’t know that half of those places exist.

They hit a joint near the docks first. It’s not even a joint- a series of parallel parties in empty containers in the secluded part of the loading area. The thrill of getting caught is enough to draw in a lot of people- that and cheap booze.

Len huffs, eyeing different containers, all marked with a neon blue circle in the right bottom corner. This will take forever.

“Take the right side, I’ll take the left. See you in the middle?”

“Sounds like a plan, boss.”

“Don’t burn down anything.”

“…Not making any promises.” Well, it’s as good as Len’s gonna get.

  * ●●●●



“- and I was like, _girl, mind your own damn business, this ain’t no ‘Gossip Girl’_.”

“Sounds lovely.” Len snarks over the bass pumping some techno crap, feeling his fingers twitch by his sides and losing his usually extensive patience. “But have you seen or heard anything about those missing kids?”

“Nah, baby. That ain’t my neighborhood.” The girl- woman- blinks at him innocently, like she hasn’t just wasted ten minutes of his life.

_Why the fuck did you waste my time then_ , he feels like grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her until she sobers up. He’s afraid to even think what Mick’s doing in other containers.

He pushes his way out, welcoming the fresh air and mournfully making his way to the final container. He didn’t find anything useful, but he did spread the word that ‘Len and Mick are looking for information on kidnappings’. He hopes Mick had better luck.

Just in that moment, Mick emerges out of that last container, expression hard and with a guy trying to free himself from a headlock in tow. Mick releases him, smacks him upside the head when the first thing the guy does is start fixing his clothes.

“Tell him what you told me.” He demands gruffly.

Guy finally notices Len, straightens. “Look, guys, I’m, I’m not looking for trouble-“

“Start talking then.” Mick interrupts him with an eye roll.

He focuses his attention on Len, shifting his eyes around them. “I might know someone who knows something about those kids going missing.”

“And?” Len prompts him, gesturing with his hand to hurry up.

“I know this girl that might have been at the park when one of the kids went missing.”

Len exchanges a look with Mick, rolls his eyes. “So she’s a working girl. What’s her name?”

Guy blushes, flustering. “Said it’s Crystal.”

“Alright. What does Crystal look like?”

“Uh, redhead, brown eyes, she, ah, she has a tattoo of a bird on the inside of her thigh.” He rattles off.

Len looks at Mick. “That’s all?”

Guy nods furiously.

“Thanks.” When the guy doesn’t move, Mick rolls his eyes again.

“You can go now.” He says.

Guy trips over his own feet in his haste to get away from them. Or maybe just Mick.

“Wow.” Len says after a brief silence.

“Yeah. I’d _pay_ to see him ask that girl for some fun.”

Len snorts in agreement. “Jokes aside. How do we find this Crystal?”

Mick shrugs. “I think we’ve got to go back to the park.”

“Great. I can’t wait.”

 


	4. Cold As Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last chapter in my drafts, so from now on updates will be once a week. At least I'll try to make them once a week.
> 
> Comment and enjoy! :)

The garage is not as bad as Dean thought it would be. And neither is the neighborhood. It’s pretty decent, if a bit sketchy. Far from what Lewis made them think it would be.

Leonard sees them coming and says something to his companion over the hood of gorgeous black Mustang from 1980’s, then he’s walking towards them. His clothes are a bit baggy, hanging from him because he didn’t really grow into his long limbs just yet and he’s got machine oil smeared over a bruise on his cheekbone. There’s another blooming on his jaw. Dean can imagine he’s as clumsy as Sam was when he hit the growth spurt.

“Thought you already talked to my dad.” Is his greeting.

“Yeah, we just want to follow up some things. Make sure we have everything we need, you know?” Sam opens with. Leonard hums in response.

“Ask away.”

“Well, we actually want to talk about your sister. You two are close?”

Kid shrugs, “She’s my sister.” He says like it explains everything.

“Yeah, but… did you notice if she was acting strange lately?”

Kid narrows his eyes at them. “No, she was fine.”

“And you two went along fine? No arguments?” Dean asks.

“Everything was fine.”

“Your dad said you dropped out of school. Why’s that?”

“I thought we were talking about Lisa.”

“Sorry. You just seem awfully _fine_ for someone whose sister was just kidnapped three days ago.” Dean snarks because they have nothing and this kid is not making their job easier.

That gets him the coldest stare Dean received in his lifetime.

“No offense, Agents, but how I deal with anything is none of your business.” He snarks right back. “And if we’re done here, there’s a job I have to get back to.” His voice holds an edge of something that reminds Dean strangely of a principal or some other figure of authority dismissing him from the conversation. It effectively puts a lid on their little interrogation session, even if Dean hates to admit it, pushing would only make the kid that much more suspicious. And that is obviously not getting them anywhere.

Sam sighs next to him as they watch Leonard’s retreating figure. He stops by that Mustang, quickly saying something to his friend who’s elbows deep in its hood and then disappears in the back.

“I didn’t think there’s gonna be a kid able to make me feel like a preadolescent in principal’s office, but I guess I was wrong.” Dean comments.

“Yeah. I was sure he was gonna take a swing at you there for a moment.” Sam tells him.

Dean hums in agreement, then nudges Sam. “Hey, maybe we’ll have more luck with his friend.”

The mentioned friend doesn’t pay them any attention until Dean clears his throat, standing only a few feet away from him. And even then, a grunt of addressing is the only indication that he’s even aware they’re there. Sam and Dean share a look.

“We’re with FBI. Do you mind answering a few questions?” Sam asks politely.

“You’re digging up dirt on Snart?” The question- or was it an accusation?- gets grunted into the car.

“What?”

Finally, the guy straightens, turning to look at them. He looks closer to Len’s age than he himself does, if not a bit older and a bit taller, but twice his size. He’s scowling.

“You’re digging up dirt on Snart?” He repeats. “Cause I’ve got nothing to tell you.”

Once again, they’re taken aback by a hostile attitude; you can say whatever you want about Central City, but everyone is always so damn suspicious.

Dean’s sick of it.

“Hey, we’re trying to help here, kid.” He says sharply.

The guy looks like he’s about to start an argument, but then reigns himself in; he scowls deeply.

“Then you’re questioning the wrong people.” He says, totally unhelpfully.

“What does that mean?” Sam jumps in. He probably noticed that Dean’s three seconds away from strangling the kid.

He scoffs, “Means you’re asking about the wrong Snart. Last time I checked, Lewis was the one who had mothers of both of his kids buried.”

“Wait, what?” That… doesn’t make sense.

“What?”

“You said mothers. As in-“

“They don’t have the same mom.” Dean finishes. The feeling of Lewis knowing something they don’t ( _like a secret_ ) is back at full force.

The guy, kid- Dean doesn’t even know what to call him- gives them a flat look. “Yeah.” He narrows his eyes at them, “I thought you’d check the files they surely have in the precinct. Or, uh, Snart senior didn’t tell you?”

And, fuck it, Dean’s really getting sick of everyone knowing more than them. Lewis has some shit to explain.

  * ●●●●



Lewis has some shit to explain indeed.

Dean digs the heels of his palms in his eyes and takes a deep breath. Sam is silent across from the table.

“Dean, you okay?” Not silent for long, of course.

“What do you think, Sam?” He grouches, feeling queasy; and it’s not from the burgers they had for lunch.

Lewis Snart married twice; he had Lisa with Julia Broke, a woman who died from an overdose when Lisa was five. And before that, he had Len with Nina Morsley.

Nina was from a hunter’s family, like Sam and he were, but hunting was never her thing. She and Dean had a fling before she had a big drop out with her family and went away. Dean- and everyone else- haven’t heard from her since. They all thought she was dead. But, apparently, she had gotten herself a husband and had a son with him. Eight months after Dean last saw her.

“What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?”

He looks at Sam just as his brother gets that confused puppy-eyed look on his face. “Dean, you can talk to him.”

“And say what?” Dean asks incredulously. _Hi, your mom and I had a fling right around the time you should’ve been made and there’s an itty- bitty chance we’re related_.

Sam huffs like he knows exactly what he’s thinking about.

“I don’t know. The truth?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, not a chance. The kid’s got a good life here, I’m not gonna mess it up on a hunch.”

“A hunch? Dean, do you know what is the probability-“

“Sam, no. Just, let’s leave the kid alone.” He doesn’t need to be caught up in the mess that is their life.


	5. Hummingbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes in shamefully* I'm so, so sorry this took so long, omg. I have nothing to say for myself.
> 
> Comment and enjoy! :)

The park is still as empty as it was the last time they were there. Len runs his eyes over the gravelly running track, the green of treetops and bushes, and tries to figure out how someone could snatch a kid from here. To be fair, there is a lot of secluded spots where a creep could be hiding; the problem is how he’d get away with it. There’s no way to exit the park unnoticed.

Len shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, dissatisfaction evident on his face. He looks over at the streets, but there’s no trace of any redheads anywhere and they already asked around.

“I don’t think she’s here.” Mick voices what they’re both thinking.

Len wrinkles his nose. “Yeah. How convenient, huh?”

He doesn’t like all this waiting, the unconnected spots, and missing puzzle pieces. He feels like a butt of some sick joke.

Mick snorts in response. He doesn’t like this any more than Len does, chasing around fake leads and being left scratching their heads in confusion. He takes out his lighter, flicks it on and off a few times.

“Let’s get the hell back. I’m sick of standing and freezing here.” He grumbles and turns, already stomping away. Len follows because there are no answers here.

  * ●●●●



He’s standing in a line to pay for his food when two shadows loom over him. He turns- and immediately wants to groan.

It’s the fake feds. They stepped out of their suits and are now in something more’every day’. He thinks his _fondness_ of them is obvious, if the faces they make are anything to go by. _Good_. He amps up his glare a bit more.

The taller of the two holds up his hands, “We just want to talk.”

“Right,” Len says dismissively, turning back around. He hears a sigh, but ignores it.

“We’re trying to find your sister, Leonard. And other kids. We could use some help.”

Len throws a look over his shoulder, “Meaning you need information.” He wrinkles his nose, “Sorry. Fresh out.”

The older guy huffs. Len takes a step forward to take his take-out and sets few dollar bills to cover the bill on the counter.

“Look, Leo-“

“Len.”

“What?” The older guy asks confused.

Len doesn’t get it. What the hell are they getting out of all this? They clearly aren’t feds, so it’s not their job.

Len rolls his eyes, “Nothing, I-“ his phone buzzing cuts him off. It’s Mick.

“Yeah?”

“Come to the garage right now.”

“What? Why?”

“Just haul your ass over here, you’ll see.” Mick says and hangs up.

Len shoves his phone back into his jacket pocket and turns to leave. The fake feds call for him again.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Tall one asks.

“Somewhere where you’re not.” Len throws over his shoulder and leaves.

  * ●●●●



Mick’s waiting for him at the entrance, his lighter in his hand and flicking it on and off. He grunts in greeting and jerks his head towards the garage, motioning for Len to follow him.

There’s a redhead, a couple of years older than both of them, sitting on one of the stools at Mick’s work desk.

“You’re Len?” She asks him right away.

Len nods. “Yeah.”

She nods back, stands up, and lifts up her skirt to show them a tattoo of a hummingbird on the inside of her thigh. She looks up at them, “I’m Crystal. And I think I might be able to help you find your sister.”

  * ●●●●



“I was with a client that night,” Crystal tells them, “he picked me up at the park.”

Len motions for her to continue, since Mick’s mouth is full.

She shifts in her seat, “I wanted to go to the police, but, well,” she gives them a wry smile, “you know how much good that’d do.”

Len does; the cops rarely get off their high horse and anyone who’s not an “upstanding citizen” is an unreliable witness. It’s a bag of bullshit, but it’s not like Len can do anything about it. No matter how much he wished he could, it’s just a way how it is.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “What did you see?”

Crystal takes a deep breath, “I- it was already dark, so I might be wrong, but… you know that drainage opening at the edge of the south exit?”

Len does. The opening is big enough for an adult to crawl through- well, shit.

“And?” He asks with newfound fervor. Even Mick stops chewing, intrigued.

“The kid, one of the missing ones, reached in- a ball or something probably fell in- and. And something reached back.”

_Something_. Not someone.

“What?” Mick asks. He was always a sucker for mystery/ paranormal stories.

The atmosphere turns stuffy, like Len’s in a movie. He can practically hear the suspenseful music in the background.

Crystal looks at them, “A hand. And, I know it sounds crazy, but it didn’t look human.”

  * ●●●●



Using drainage tunnels to kidnap kids is… well, if Len’s being honest, fucking genius.

He pulls out the blueprints of the whole system and puzzle pieces finally start falling into their places. “The tunnel going underneath the park and school connects about halfway of each of them.” He tells Mick, scribbling his notes on the margins.

Mick grunts in response, but he’s almost bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

“We’re gonna go to smoke out the fucker, right?” He asks.

Len looks at him over his shoulder, grins with his heart hammering in his chest, “Oh, you can bet we are.”

They’re gonna get Lisa and human or not, the fucker’s gonna regret putting his hands on her.

  * ●●●●



The park is still deserted, but this time it’s exactly what they need. There’s really no way to gracefully and inconspicuously crawl into a drainage tunnel, no matter what.

Len shimmies in after Mick and doesn’t fall on his face just because Mick catches him when he trips.

They flick on their flashlights and aim them at miles of darkness in front of them.

“Well, off we go.” Len says and steps forward.


End file.
